


boys don't cry (except for in this, bc both boys do, in fact, cry)

by sebthealienn



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boys In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Olympics, Tennis Boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebthealienn/pseuds/sebthealienn
Summary: The last few points are played on autopilot. Novak doesn't even comprehend what's happening as he hits shot after shot after shot, and then it's 6-2 in the tiebreak and Juan Martin is on serve.





	boys don't cry (except for in this, bc both boys do, in fact, cry)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krisherdown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisherdown/gifts).



> requested by krisherdown! sorry it took so long, but i finally have it done!! i'm not sure i like the ending, but have it anyway haha :))) enjoy!

The last few points are played on autopilot. Novak doesn't even comprehend what's happening as he hits shot after shot after shot, and then it's 6-2 in the tiebreak and Juan Martin is on serve. He can already feel the frustration and the anger creeping in, overwhelming him as the Argentine serves, and he lunges at ball after ball, until Juan Martin's forehand clips the net and falls right next to it. 

It's over. 

He's out.

There's a lump in his throat even before he realizes he's lost the match, and by then he's headed towards the net. He doesn't even realize he's smiling until Juan Martin smiles back at him, and then he meets Juan Martin's eyes and he can't look away anymore, because there's so much raw emotion that he can't even breathe.

They fold into each other at the net. Novak's arms wrap around him, holding him as close as possible. Juan Martin clutches his shoulder; sobs shamelessly into his shirt, and Novak can't help but feel his eyes burn with unshed tears. He blinks rapidly. 

He doesn't want to cry. Not here. Not now.

He wishes they could just stay there forever, holding each other over the net, but people are watching and the chair umpire is waiting, and Novak pulls back, managing a congratulatory grin as he cups Juan Martin's face in his hands. It would be polite to say something, at least to congratulate him on the victory, but Novak can't find his voice and instead caresses Juan Martin's stubble with his thumb. He's so in love. He's not even mad at him.

Novak doesn't dare look up at his box when he moves away, fingertips lingering on his lover's cheek just a second too long. He just barely shakes hands with the chair, then leans over the bench to pack up, stuffing rackets and bottles in his bag. Someone from the crowd cries out. There's scattered applause. A couple more people call out his name as he swings his bags over his shoulders and starts walking out, towards the tunnel.

And that's when the tears fall, and everything comes crashing down, and Novak's knees nearly buckle from the blow.

He lost. He's out. He's eliminated. He lost. He's out. He's eliminated. He lost. He lost.

He waves to the crowd, wipes the tears from his eyes. He's happy for Juan Martin. He's thrilled, even. Juan's wanted this for years. Years. Novak wants to run back to him, launch himself into the taller man's arms and wail into his shirt, congratulating and apologizing and just bawling his eyes out, but he doesn't even look back at the court when the crowd applauds him one more time. Tears slide down his cheeks as he walks down into the tunnel and slips into the locker rooms. 

FIN


End file.
